Two weeks. Could he hang on for that long? He wasn’t sure. He was about to say “no thanks” when the image of Alisa popped into his head. The thought that she might give him an honest smile, more than her overly practiced, the-customer-is-right smile, gave him a jolt. He had no business thinking about that. Or wanting it.
“The job comes with a rent-free room at the motel next door. We own it like we own the diner,” Mama added. “You get Sunday and Monday off, unless there’s a crisis. And all you can eat here at the diner plus an hourly wage.” She named a figure that made sense to Nick.
A tempting offer. “I’ve got my dog.”
“I can’t let him in the diner, and I wouldn’t want him running loose around the grounds. But you can have him in the room with you as long as he behaves himself. On a leash otherwise.”
Considering the job, he scratched his beard. He was definitely tired of being on the road. A clean room with a shower and free meals had a certain appeal.
Foolishly, he knew the real appeal was Alisa. He doubted she’d feel the same about him. Not if she knew the truth about how he’d spent the past three years in prison for a barroom brawl. One of the many fights he’d gotten into, part of his battle with PTSD.
“I sometimes get restless and need to move on. I wouldn’t want to leave you in the lurch.”
Shrugging, Mama grabbed the porch railing and pulled herself up. “If you don’t steal me blind in the meantime, and I don’t think you will or I wouldn’t have offered you the job, I won’t be any worse off than I am now with Jake gone.”
That was true. He didn’t have to feel pressured to stay.
Slowly, he stood. “Okay, I’ll take your job.”
She smiled, and he had the feeling she wanted to pat his cheek again or hug him. It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to do that, which made him feel strange and oddly vulnerable.
“I’ve got a retired couple managing the motel. Frank and Helen Scotto. You’ll be doing some work for them—changing lightbulbs, maybe a few repairs, nothing heavy. And if I have anything break down here at the diner, I’ll let you know.”
“Sounds good.”
“Tell Frank or Helen to fix you up with a room. You can start work in the morning after breakfast.”
He scratched his beard again. “Could I start a little late tomorrow? I’d like to get some of this fur off me.”
“Good idea. Guess we’d all like to see what you look like under that mop you’re wearing.” Her eyes, the same deep blue shade as Alisa’s, twinkled, and she laughed. “Ned Turner’s the barber. He’s a block up the road on the left hand side. He’s got one of those red-and-white poles out front. Opens at eight.”
“I’ll find him.”
She stooped to pick up his plate and the dog’s. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Machak. I appreciate the job. And supper.”
Her brows rose. “Mama, remember?”
He chuckled low in his chest. “Yes, Mama.”
As Mama vanished into the kitchen, his laughter evaporated and a knot of fear twisted in his stomach. He knew he didn’t dare get too comfortable here in Bear Lake. He’d be moving on soon, a residual problem left over from his abbreviated tour in Afghanistan along with the irrational fear that drove him.
Chapter Three
Nick pulled open the drapes on the sliding glass door in the motel room. On the second floor at the back of the building, it had a small balcony and an angled look at the diner and a clear view to the west. A perfect place to watch the sun go down, and with the drapes open he wouldn’t feel like the walls were closing in on him.
He turned back to scan the room. A queen-size bed covered with a forest-green quilt. Two pinewood end tables and a matching low chest of drawers. A small flat-screen TV. Pretty standard motel fare but he’d stayed in worse. Like an eight-foot by eight-foot prison cell.
“What do you think, Rags? Home sweet home?” For a few days. Maybe a couple of weeks. It couldn’t hurt to stay put for a while.
Without responding, Rags did his sniffing thing. In every new spot they’d stopped, the dog had to investigate the area thoroughly. Nick had no idea what Rags expected to find, but he sure was looking hard for it. Maybe he was searching for the trail of the family who had left him stranded in Colorado.
Nick knew where his own family was, what was left of it anyway. He had no plans to track his father down again.
He should have known better than to try.
His old man had never had time for him. And Nick had learned to keep his distance when his dad was drinking. At least until he was old enough and big enough to hold his own. After that, his old man had left him alone.
Opening the sliding glass door, he stepped out onto the balcony. Rags followed him and sat down, peering across the parking lot at the diner. The faintest hint of hamburgers on the grill drifted on a light breeze.
Nick wondered which of the upstairs rooms belonged to Alisa. She sure hadn’t wandered far from home. And where was her son’s father? He hadn’t seen any sign of a husband around the place. Maybe he worked somewhere else.
Or maybe he’d moved on. She wasn’t wearing a ring.
None of your business, Carbini.
“Come on, Rags. Let’s get our gear from the truck and then we’ll go looking for some regular dog food for you and a regular leash instead of that ol’ rope I’ve been using.”
Rags whined.
“Yeah, I know. You’d rather run around on your own.” He shooed the dog back inside and closed the door. “But Mama says that’s a no go. She doesn’t want you running off her customers.” He didn’t think Alisa wanted Rags playing with her son either. He’d guess Greg would think otherwise.
* * *
The Thursday night crowd at the diner had thinned by eight-thirty.
“Good night, Alisa.” Larry Cornwall, the high school football coach, tipped his cap as he was about to leave. “I’m still waiting for you to say yes to going to the Harvest Festival with me.”
She shot him a grin. “Larry, you know how busy I am on Saturday nights.” He’d been asking her out ever since he moved to town three years ago. For reasons that annoyed Mama, Alisa had always refused his invitations.
“The festival’s a good cause. Football team needs your support.”
“I’ll make sure to get a check in the mail to you soon.”
Frowning, he shook his head. “One of these days I’ll wear you down, and you’ll say yes just to get rid of me.”
She laughed. “Have a good evening, Larry.”
Alisa waved goodbye to him. She turned to straighten the menus and slipped them into place beside the cash register.
“I’m going to call it a night,” she said to Jolene, who was working the evening shift. An attractive woman in her thirties with two children and a husband who worked for the state highway system, Jolene was unfailingly chipper. In addition to her, Tricia, a sweet teenager who worked part-time, was waiting tables. The two of them could handle the thinning crowd.
“Time to put Greg to bed, huh?” Jolene asked.
“Working the number of hours I do, bedtime is about the only chance I get to spend with him.” A reality that gave her a large dose of guilt, yet she couldn’t seem to figure out how to change the situation. She couldn’t leave Mama to run the whole diner. There had been signs lately that her mother’s arthritis was beginning to bother her.
“Whatever you’re doing, he’s a great little kid. Smart as a whip, too.” She dumped out the coffee from the old pot and started to make a new one.
“I chalk that up to being very lucky, not to my parenting skills.” Being a single parent had many disadvantages including the lack of enough time to give her child the attention he deserved. Of course, all of the staff and most of th
e regulars doted on him. But she wasn’t sure that made up for her inattention. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Say hello to Fred for me.”
“Will do.” Jolene shot her a bright smile. “And if you’re asking, I think Larry would be a good catch for some woman. He’s good-looking. Has a decent job.”
“Guess I’m just not that woman.” As nice as Larry was, she hadn’t felt any spark with him. Without a spark, there couldn’t be love. She wasn’t going to settle for less than the real deal. If that meant she’d never have the kind of relationship her mother had had with Papa, so be it.
As Alisa took the stairs to the second floor, she removed the band that held her ponytail and shook her hair loose. Her aching feet loudly announced it had been another long day. Maybe she ought to promote Jolene to shift manager and hire an additional waitress. Then she could take on some of Mama’s load in the kitchen.
The fly in the ointment would be the increased employee salaries they would have to pay. The profit margin for a restaurant was slim under the best of circumstances. These days the increasing price of food from the wholesaler kept the diner on a financial razor’s edge.
The second-floor living quarters had three bedrooms, a cozy sitting room with a television rarely watched by anyone except Greg, a small kitchen and eating area. Considering they had a huge kitchen downstairs and ate most of their meals there, the upstairs kitchen didn’t get used much. Greg’s cereal for breakfast or a popcorn treat at night were about the limit of its use.
In the early days, before they’d bought the motel next door, Mama had rented out the rooms on the third floor. Now it was mostly unused except for storage.
She found Greg sprawled on the floor watching the Disney Channel. The arrival of satellite TV had been both a blessing and bane. She tried hard to limit Greg’s TV time and the programs he saw. She wasn’t always successful.
“Hey, buddy, how’s it going?”
Without looking away from the TV screen, he said, “Fine.”
Little boys were often inarticulate and very adept at ignoring their mothers. “So I’m planning a trip to Africa. I’m leaving in the morning. Want to come along?”
A pair of matching frown lines formed above his eyebrows. Belatedly he glanced up at Alisa. “Uh? Where are you going?”
She chuckled, sat down beside him on the floor and ruffled his curly hair. “Nowhere. But you’re going to go get your pajamas on and get ready for bed.”
“Ah, Mom. Can’t I watch the end of this? It’s almost over.”
“How about you get your pajamas and change in here? When the show’s over you can brush your teeth.”
“Can I wait until the next commercial?”
Alisa rolled her eyes. Her son was going to grow up to be a big-time negotiator, maybe even someone who negotiated treaties with foreign countries. He always wanted to get a little more of whatever was being discussed. He usually got his way, too.
Of course, that was her fault. She hated to deny him anything.
She wondered if it would be different if he had a father who set the rules. Not that Ben, the drifter who had deserted her, would have provided much of a role model or been a disciplinarian. She’d had word a few years ago that he’d been killed in a rodeo accident. Although she felt bad that he had died so young, he never would have been a factor in Greg’s life anyway. His loss.
The commercial started. Good to his word, Greg hopped up and dashed into his room.
Alisa stood as well. She strolled over to the window to close the curtains. Lighted windows in the Pine Tree Inn across the parking lot indicated they had nearly full occupancy. Idly she wondered which room was Nick’s. And how long he’d stick around.
Not long, she imagined, giving the curtains a hard tug.
No way was she going to build a fantasy of happily-ever-after with another drifter.
The curtains hung up on something. She was about to give them another jerk when she saw the figure of a man standing behind the motel.
Squinting, she realized two things. First, despite the shadows she recognized the man was Nick. Second, he had balanced a stick or bar between two trees and was doing chin-ups one after another. His dog sat nearby watching Nick’s every move.
A moment later, he dropped to the ground and started doing push-ups. One, two, three...
No wonder Nick seemed so strong, his arms so muscular. He was seriously into physical fitness.
Shaking her head, she finished closing the curtains. What was it, she wondered, that drove a drifter to push himself so hard physically?
* * *
Nick finished his workout. Despite the cool air, he was sweating from every pour. His muscles screamed from the exertion. He barely had enough energy to get to his feet.
Physically exhausted, he’d take a shower and hit the sack. Maybe with a firm mattress beneath him and clean Montana air to breathe, he’d sleep through until morning. Assuming the titanium rod and screws in his left leg didn’t put up a battle.
“Come on, Rags. Let’s call it a night.”
They climbed the stairs to the second floor. Nick let the dog into the room and threw the deadbolt on the door.
It didn’t take him long to shower and get into bed. He smiled at the feel of the crisp sheets, the stack of pillows beneath his head and the silence outside the sliding glass door. You’re coming up in the world, Carbini.
After making a few revolutions in order to pick exactly the right spot, Rags settled down on the floor next to the bed.
Not much time had passed when the dream started. Distant explosions. Small arms fire. Men shouting orders.
Running feet. Bullets coming closer. Fear burning in his gut. Screams of pain.
Nick turned restlessly on the bed. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t leave his men. They were injured. Dying. He had to help.
He bolted upright, fully awake, covered with sweat. Rags with his paws on the bed, whining pitifully.
He wrapped his arms around the dog. “Good dog,” he whispered, his voice husky with residual fear. Rags had awakened him before the worst of the dream could overwhelm him. The memory of his cowardice.
Lying back down, he stared up at the ceiling as his breathing slowed. Idly, he tangled his fingers in Rags’s fur. He’d be all right now. The worst was over. Until tomorrow night.
* * *
The following morning, Nick got up at dawn to run with his dog, the air clear, the temperature autumn-crisp. Invigorating.
He showered and walked into town. He found the barbershop easily. Waiting for the shop to open, he tied Rags’s leash to a streetlamp. “Sorry, buddy. You have to stay outside.”
At that moment, Ned Turner arrived to unlock the door. “You coming in for a haircut, sergeant?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Bring your dog inside. No need for him to stay out here all by himself.” A tall, slender man with graying hair, Ned opened the door wide. “Welcome to Bear Lake.”
“Thank you.” It wasn’t often Nick had been called sergeant in the past few years, although the insignia of his former rank was obvious on his jacket.
When Nick saw the military insignias plastered all over the barbershop walls and photos of army platoons, plus a shelf full of coffee mugs with unit insignias, including one mug with the chaplain’s cross, he realized why. Ned was former military himself and easily recognized the staff sergeant stripes on his army jacket.
Nick looped Rags’s leash over the arm of one of the chairs that lined the wall. “Stay.”
Rags sat. His eyes remained alert, riveted on Nick.
“What was your unit?” Ned flipped on the lights.
Nick shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a coatrack. “Fifth Infantry. Stationed at Kandahar.” Until the army decided to send him to an outlying camp to feed the troops. Whe
n al Qaeda overran the camp, Nick got an unplanned flight out to the U.S. hospital in Germany. He was luckier than most of the guys he worked with who went home in a box. Including his best buddy, Hank.
He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily to banish the image of smeared blood across stainless steel kitchen appliances where so many had died.
Ned gestured toward the barber chair. “I’m First Infantry. Served in ’Nam from ’68 to ’70.”
“That was a tough war.”
“They all are.” He placed a cape around Nick’s shoulders and ran a comb through his hair. “So what’ll it be? Trim?”
“The whole shebang, shave and a haircut. I’m helping Mama out at the diner for a week or so as handyman. Figure I ought to at least look respectable when I’m working around the place.” He smiled slightly. Alisa might appreciate a cleaned-up handyman, too, though she was unlikely to admit it.
“If you’re working for Mama Machak, you better toe the line,” Ned commented. “She’s a pretty special lady around Bear Lake. Her daughter, too.”
“I’ll try to remember that.” Nick didn’t doubt for a moment that the townspeople would take Mama’s side if a stranger tried to cross her. Maybe that’s what made Bear Lake a good place to live.
Except he wasn’t looking for a place to settle down.
As Ned began working on him, a couple of fellows came into the shop. One began making a pot of coffee without asking. The other gave Rags a couple of pats then picked up the morning newspaper.
“Mitchell there behind the newspaper served in Iraq,” Ned said, snipping at Nick’s hair with his scissors. “The guy with the coffee habit is Ward. He’s a marine, but we let him hang out with us army types anyway.”
Ward shot a look over his shoulder. “Only ’cause you know I could take you out with my hands tied behind my back.”
Mitchell and Ned laughed.
“We got ourselves our own veterans group.” Ned brushed loose hair off Nick’s shoulders. “Nothing formal, you understand. We meet every Wednesday night in my back room. Half a dozen or so, some who are still shaking off the memories of whatever war they were fighting. ’Nam, Iraq, Afghanistan, it’s all the same for us grunts when we come home. If you’re around next Wednesday, come on by.”
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